


The Surprising Benefits of Walking Barefoot

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Future Fic, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the spring semester of their junior year, and Scott has the future on his mind. Stuff like working hard to get into the best undergrad program possible—and maybe, just maybe, trying this romance thing again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Surprising Benefits of Walking Barefoot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArgentLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/gifts).



> Dear Agent_Argent: I absolutely loved all of your prompts, and I would have loved to write all of them for you! But this is the one that snagged me first: something sweet for Scott and Lydia. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to A. for betaing. If this story is complete crap, it's his fault. (Just kidding, sweetie! <3)

Coach had the freshmen huddled around him, a ring of skinny-legged, spikey-haired, wide-eyed kids who could barely keep their shorts on their hips, let alone stand tall under the weight of the shoulder pads and chest guards trying to swallow their bones. Scott was pretty sure he and Stiles had never been that small, but he definitely remembered Coach's finger wag in his face, could still smell that first gust of coffee-breath rebounding off his cheek. Hell, he still wasn't sure that the way Coach's eyes bulged like a guppies wasn't a sign of an oncoming stroke.

_"I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me!"_

The kid in front of Coach swallowed hard enough that Scott could hear the wet-stone plunk of it without stretching his hearing. He nodded furiously, obviously believing that enthusiastic agreement would get Coach to move on—which, of course, was the truth, though Coach grinned and patted the kid on the cheek before he locked eyes with his next victim and launched into the rest of Aragorn's speech from _The Return of the King_.

Scott sighed. Maybe he could work up some enthusiasm of his own for the upcoming first match of the season if he could just figure out this one last problem. Where he'd gone wrong had to be obvious; he'd circled the right answer the first time through without even scribbling any notes in the margins of the problem set. 

Stiles shifted beside him. Scott sighed again, ready to give in to the inevitable and beg for merciful intervention, when the hollowly ringing thunk-thunk-thunk of high heels against metal bleachers brought his head up. He'd know that focused stride anywhere, but it was the smell of jasmine and musk that had his eyes drifting shut.

They sprang open again when he realized Lydia hadn't stopped at her usual seat beside Allison. Her footsteps kept coming, thudding dulling against the cold ground as she marched straight over to the bench. Scott glanced at Stiles, but his best friend was stroking his bottom lip lazily, staring at something way beyond the lacrosse field, no help at all as Lydia picked up Scott's water bottle and carefully settled in beside him on the bench, stockinged leg pressing hot against his bare thigh.

"You looked vexed," she said, leaning across his body to pluck the pencil from his senseless fingers. She drew a quick vertical slash through one of the minus signs, then sat back, offering up his pencil like a gift. "You forgot about the absolute value. It's plus four, not minus four."

"Oh!" The tight muscles in his forehead reversed flight, stretching his eyebrows wide. Scott erased the last two lines of his work, then quickly ran through the problem again, sagging backwards as he finally circled 'C'. "Oh, man. I knew it was obvious, but I can't believe I missed that."

"You just got caught up in all the complex operations in the rest of the problem," she said, tapping her finger next to the pair of parentheses on the left side of the original equation. "Make sure you don't ignore the simple stuff, just because the rest of it seems like it needs the most attention."

"Yeah, you're right." He grinned at her, and she smiled back. "Thanks."

Her smile slipped, eyebrows drawing together as she cocked her head at his work. "Why are you working on this, anyway? We're on derivatives right now."

"Uh." Before Scott could decide how he wanted to explain, Lydia leaned in again, closer this time, her breasts pressing against his arm as she reached across his body to close the book. His face heated as she took in the cover, though at least he kept the rest of his body under control.

"SAT sample tests? But I thought you did just fine when we all took it in January."

"Yeah, I did okay," he said, fighting off a blush. His scores weren't anything to be embarrassed about. Sometimes, though, it was hard to tell himself it was okay that he hadn't gotten the perfect scores that Lydia and Stiles had. Mostly on days when his dad's voice was the loudest one between his ears, but that wasn't the only reason. "Not good enough to get into a really great school, though. And if I want to get into vet school…."

"You need to get into a kickass undergrad program." Lydia nodded knowingly, and he didn't doubt that she knew exactly what it took to get into vet school, even though she'd never expressed any interest in becoming a veterinarian herself. Scott had seen some of the spreadsheets she kept, the ones with the all the graduate schools she was interested in, along with the possible undergrad routes to get to each and the requirements she needed to fulfill. "Well. I can help you. Math is my forte, of course, but there's no reason we can't work on the reading and writing sections, as well. We can meet at my place after practice."

"Oh, um." Scott licked his lips. Lydia's eyes followed the movement, and he almost let himself accept her invitation. "Thanks, but Stiles is helping me."

Stiles squawked, apparently back from whatever la-la land he'd been visiting just in time to add his completely unhelpful opinion to the conversation. Scott kept his eyes on Lydia, on the way her whole face went tight, her smile a thin line, eyes blinking in a constant rhythm like some kind of funhouse doll.

"Oh, well, of course," she said. She stood up, thigh knocking against his books, sending them tumbling between his legs. "I'm sure you'll do just fine without me."

"Lydia," he called as he scrambled to catch his books, but she was already halfway up the bleachers by the time he got everything under control. He wasn't sure why she'd sounded so pissed, like he'd said he thought she'd be a terrible tutor, but it was probably something he should apologize for, anyway.

Stiles sighed loudly. The exaggerated, huffy sigh that meant he thought Scott had turned into Charlie Brown. Blockhead membership card included.

"McCALL! STILINSKI!"

He and Stiles jumped at the same time.

"Yes, Coach?" Scott called back.

"You two knuckleheads planning on joining us today, or have you decided you're too good for this team? Maybe you think you're so good you'd be better off sitting up in the bleachers, cheering us on. Is that it?"

"Yes, Coach! I mean, no Coach!" Scott huffed. Some days he couldn't get an answer right to save his life. "I mean, coming, Coach!"

He shoved his books to the side and jogged out to join the rest of the team, Stiles half a step behind him. Isaac smirked as he tossed him a long stick, but Scott just rolled his eyes and took up position in front of the goal.

If his gaze drifted up to the bleachers a time or two, well, it didn't really matter anyway. Lydia was deep in conversation, not even looking towards the field, and Scott could take out these freshmen in his sleep.

* * *

He was on the second to last section of the reading practice test when Stiles sighed, louder and longer than he had the other five times he'd done it in the last five minutes. Scott very deliberately clicked on B, then turned around, eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

"Oh, hey," Stiles said, gesturing towards the computer. "Was I bothering you? Because I really didn't mean—"

"Cut the crap, Stiles. Either you've got something on your mind you're dying to share, or you need to seriously think about using my inhaler in the next thirty seconds."

"Funny," Stiles said, but he sighed again, more naturally this time, and then scrambled upright from where he'd been sprawled across Scott's bed. That wasn't a good sign; Stiles could talk about anything and everything from the craziest positions, but he only made sure he was upright and looking Scott straight in the eye when he was dead serious about something. The way he worked his mouth a couple times, like he was actually _trying_ to figure out the right way to say something, made Scott's skin itch, the wolf wanting to come out and protect his pack from the danger it sensed.

"Just spit it out," Scott growled.

"Okay, whoa," Stiles said, holding up both hands. "Dial it back down, dude. I was just going to say I think you should take Lydia up on her offer to help you study."

Scott closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he tamped down his misplaced alpha instincts, jasmine and musk ghosting through his sinuses like a soothing ocean breeze.

"Wait," he said, eyes popping open as Stiles' words penetrated. "Why? Are you saying you don't want to help me anymore? Because I told you, you don't have to do this. I'll be okay on my own, I swear."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I know you're not actually as oblivious as you appear, but let's go over it again, just to make sure. When a girl offers to help you study, it means…."

Scott huffed. "You do know that guys and girls can be just friends, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know," Stiles said. "But come on, man. Opportunity just walked up and pounded on your door, and you told it 'thanks, but no thanks'. That hurts my soul, Scott. It really does."

"It's not like that," Scott said, with a hard shake of his head. "Really. Lydia was just being nice. She does that, you know."

"Yeah, but." Stiles let out a long breath through his nose, lips pressed hard together, eyes narrowed, gaze searching Scott's face in that way he sometimes had these days. Like he was capable of seeing inside someone to read their deepest thoughts, or he could look beyond the present and read the pages of the future out of a book. Scott wasn't sure if it was an emissary thing or a side effect of the sacrifice to their Nemeton, but it never failed to raise the hairs on his forearms.

"What?" Scott asked softly.

"This is about me, isn't it?" Stiles stretched forward, latching onto Scott's knees and using his grip to rock him slightly side to side. "Remember that part where I've been telling you for the past six months or so that I'm over Lydia? Well, newsflash. I'm completely over Lydia."

Stiles' heartbeat didn't jitter once, but then again, it hadn't any of the other times Stiles had said that. That could mean Stiles was telling the absolute truth—or it could mean Stiles knew how to lie well enough to fool them both.

"Hey, Scott, look at me."

Scott hadn't even realized he'd been staring down, like he could actually see the heartbeat he was hearing through the thin skin over the backs of Stiles' hands. He looked up—and Stiles was Stiles again, the same kid Scott had met in a sandbox when they were four, smiling the same crooked smile he'd had on his face when he'd offered Scott his bright green Rex the dinosaur.

"How do you feel about Allison these days?"

Scott frowned, then shrugged. "She's one of my best friends. But I'm not in love with her anymore, if that's what you're getting at."

Stiles nodded. "But she'll always be special to you, right? Even though you've moved on."

"Okay, okay." Stiles hadn't actually said the words _it's okay if you and Lydia start dating, because I love you both and want the very best for you,_ but Scott heard them anyway. Scott swallowed hard as his heart started beating faster, his skin prickling with a sudden onset of sweat. "I get your point. But, Stiles—"

"Zzzt! No buts." Stiles leaned forward again, snatching Scott's phone off of the desk and dropping it into his lap. "Text her and set up a time to get together."

Scott ran his thumb over his contacts list, but he didn't do anything more than that before he let his hand drop to his lap.

"I'm over Allison," he said slowly, making sure Stiles actually listened to him this time. "But I don't know that I've moved on. I mean, I don't know if I'm ready for...whatever moving on means. Or if Lydia'd actually want that with me."

"You don't want to get hurt again," Stiles said, eyes soft.

Scott shrugged. "Or hurt anyone else. With Allison, everything felt so crazy, and I screwed up a lot. Not just with her. But my mom, school, you, even Lydia."

"I remember," Stiles said dryly. He shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you, man. But like some wise dude once told me, men and women can just be friends." He nudged Scott's knee. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. But Lydia's brilliant at math. You should take her up on the tutoring, even if nothing else happens."

"Like you're not brilliant at everything," Scott said, rolling his eyes—but he brought up Lydia's number and typed in a quick message.

He only had to take a couple deep breaths before he managed to hit 'SEND'.

* * *

His hair was still damp, droplets of water tickling the back of his neck, making him regret the way he'd hurried through showering and getting dressed after practice. But he was here now, so all he could do was follow through, reach out and ring Lydia's doorbell.

She opened the door slowly, one arm stretched up to control its path. She'd done something different since he saw her half an hour ago, though he wasn't sure exactly what it was. Not her clothes, or her perfume. Maybe it was her hair. He was pretty sure it'd been up at practice, but now it was down, cascading wavy and thick over her shoulders as she stared back at him, her gaze traveling down and back up his body like she was making sure he was clean enough to step foot inside her house. Her nostrils flared ever so slightly, like she was the werewolf, and Scott had to resist the pull to stick his own nose inside his armpit, make sure he'd scrubbed well and remembered deodorant.

He'd already done that three times before he got here, after all.

"Hey," she finally said. "Ready to study?"

"Yeah." He held up his books. "Thanks for this, Lydia. It really means a lot."

"You've said that three times already," she said dryly, and Scott let out a nervous chuckle as she turned towards the stairs. "What exactly are you having trouble with, by the way?"

"Everything," he huffed, even though it wasn't true. "I mean, I spent a lot of time on the verbal section last summer, so I feel okay about vocab. But mostly I just need more practice with everything."

"We'll start with the math section, then," she said, right before she opened the door to her bedroom and stepped inside. She walked over to her desk, pulling one of the chairs out, but Scott was stuck at the door, unable to look away from the turned-back corner of the thick duvet on her bed.

"Could we work out by the pool?" he blurted.

Lydia turned around, eyebrows stretching towards her hairline. Scott understood why; the sun had set on his way over here, and the temperature had dipped before the end of practice, the constant light breeze carrying a breath of frost from the winter that wouldn't quite let go. But then she glanced towards the bed and sighed.

"Of course," she said, walking back towards the door. "Whatever makes you happy."

* * *

Scott bit his lip, then squared his shoulders and took a step forward, resting his shoulder against the locker next to Lydia's. She glanced up at him with a small smile, then went back to sorting through her stacks of books and binders.

"Thanks again for last night," he said. "I can tell already that working with you is going to make a big difference."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling a bit brighter this time. "I'm glad I can help."

"Are we still on for tonight?" He grabbed hold of the back of his neck with his restless fingers, hoping he didn't look like a complete dork. "I don't want to get in the way of your own studying."

Lydia snorted. "Please," she said, rolling her eyes. "When they actually start giving me something slightly challenging, I'll be sure to let you know. Until then, I'm yours."

"Yeah?" He grinned, but Lydia blushed and turned away. Scott cleared his throat. "I mean, awesome. Future generations of puppies and kitties will thank you."

She laughed softly, then shut her locker, snicking the padlock into place. "Yes, well. I want Prada to have the very best care when he gets into his old age, so you'd better study hard."

"You'd bring Prada to me?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. " _If_ you study hard." She pressed her the tips of her fingers against his chest, nails as tough as blunted werewolf claws, and pushed him back half a step. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to the other side of the building before Chesterton decides he hasn't given out enough tardy detentions for the month."

"Right. Sorry." Scott took a step back, swinging around to watch her stalk off down the hall. Stiles crashed into his side right as Lydia turned the corner, slinging an arm around Scott's shoulders.

"You, brother of my heart, are a dumbass."

"Shut up," Scott said, twisting around so they could start heading towards their own class. "You know Lydia. If she really wanted to go out with me, don't you think she'd just say so?"

Stiles opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"Yeah," Scott said, sighing heavily. "That's what I thought."

"No, but seriously. I still think you're being a dumbass," Stiles said. "Have you actually asked her out? Or maybe, you know, asked her how she feels about you?"

"I'm not going to ask her out." Although. Maybe he could convince her to go to the park for their Sunday study session, pack some sandwiches and some Cokes. It wouldn't really be a date. "I told you, Stiles. Even if Lydia's interested, I don't think it'd work. We're just in too different places right now."

"Yeah, and you're going to stay that way," Stiles said as they walked through the door of their classroom. "Because you're both so sure of where you think you're heading that you haven't bothered to pull up Google maps."

Scott frowned. "If that was supposed to be some kind of metaphor, I didn't get it."

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, Scott, I know."

* * *

"Earth to Scott."

Scott blinked, some part of his brain acknowledging Lydia's voice, but he couldn't quite follow it back to whatever it was she wanted him to pay attention to. The sun was bearing down hard, hot and strong for late March, and Lydia's bare shoulders were starting to pink up. He should probably say something to her, but that would mean admitting that he'd been staring at her naked shoulders when he'd tried so hard up to now to keep their study sessions at a just-friends level. 

Lydia snapped her fingers right in front of his eyes.

"Uh," he said, finally coming back to the present. He flashed her a sheepish grin. "Sorry. What was the question?"

She tapped the tip of her index finger against the last question he'd answered. "Explain to me again how you came up with three-eighths."

"Why? It's right, isn't it?"

Lydia huffed. "Yes. But it's always better if you show your work, even if you can do it in your head. You're far less likely to make a mistake that way, and it's also much easier to check your work when you go back through the test at the end."

"I didn't have time to check my work the last time I took it," Scott muttered. 

Lydia opened her mouth, probably to reassure him, but the wind gusted and she grabbed at the length of her hair, a resigned look on her face as strands of it escaped her grasp to dance around her face. "Ugh. I should have worn it up today, but I didn't realize it was going to be so breezy out here."

Scott bit his lip. It had been his idea to come out here, to the outside lunch tables where it was quieter, where the scent of her perfume wouldn't fill his nose quite so strongly. "We can go back inside. To the library, maybe."

She shook her head. "No, it's fine. By the time we get settled again, it'll be time for class. I can put up with it for a little bit longer."

"Hang on," Scott said, digging into the front pocket of his backpack. Sure enough, tucked down between a couple of gum wrappers and his collection of pens, was a black pony tail holder. He pulled it out triumphantly and held it out to her. "Here. This should help."

Lydia's mouth twisted up and to the side. "Is that Allison's?"

"Um. It might be my mom's?" Scott sighed and lowered his hand. "That was some kind of big hair faux pas, wasn't it?"

Lydia laughed lightly, then plucked the hair tie from between his fingers. "It's fine. It's one of those things that's been ingrained in me since kindergarten—never share hair stuff. But I know your mom and Allison are both fine, so." At Scott's curious look, she shrugged. "That's how lice are spread, remember?"

"Ew. No, it's clean, I can tell."

"Good." Lydia did some complicated maneuver that had her hair up in a loop on the back of her head in a matter of seconds. She dropped her hand back down, then flushed when she noticed he was watching her.

"Is it a mess?" she asked, smoothing the flats of her fingers over the crown of her head. "I prefer to brush it out before I put it up, but—"

"You look great." A stray ringlet dangled, and Scott almost reached out, knowing she'd want to push it back behind her ear where it wouldn't bother her, but he held himself back at the last second, curling his impetuous fingers into a loose fist. He cleared his throat. "Just like always."

"Oh." Her smile was oddly shy, like for some reason she was surprised to have someone tell her she looked pretty. "Thank you. But that doesn't get you out of explaining how you got to three-eighths."

"Yes, ma'am." Scott picked up his pencil, then started explaining out loud as he jotted down the numbers. "One hundred seniors, each of whom get submitted to the drawing three times, is three hundred. Plus 150 juniors get their names put in the hat twice, so that's another three hundred. The 200 sophomores only get one shot, so that's still 200. So the total number of names in the hat is 800."

"Correct," Lydia said, sharp and clear like she was stamping a star across the top of the page with her voice. "Continue."

"So the chance that a senior's name will get pulled out of the hat is three hundred out of eight hundred. All that's left is to reduce." Scott slashed through the two pairs of zeros with a sense of satisfaction that was probably way out of proportion to what he was actually doing; maybe that was the wolf inside of him, taking delight in killing its prey. Or maybe it was just that he'd hung out with Stiles for too many years and gotten into the habit of taking joy from silly things. "Three-eighths. Easy."

"Very good," Lydia said, with warm pride this time. It made her green eyes light up, made them look like some kind of translucent jade under the sun, and yeah, Scott really couldn't fool himself anymore. Not when he was wondering how Stiles could have ever labeled Lydia's irises an emerald green, like he'd picked that adjective off the pages of romance novel instead of actually looking into her eyes. Not when he was wondering if the color would deepen if he leaned in just a bit further….

"You're drifting on me again," she said.

"Sorry. I was, uh, just thinking about you in grad school." It wasn't even a lie, although the idea had come to him earlier, when she'd snapped _Time!_ with more authority than any teacher he'd ever had at Beacon Hills. "They'll have you teaching classes then, right?

Lydia shrugged. "It depends on the program." Her eyes slid towards him. "Why?"

Scott shrugged. "Because I think you'll be amazing at it."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Those kids will never know what hit them."

* * *

Allison was standing on his doorstep.

"Um," Scott said, which totally demonstrated the decisive, strong alpha leadership qualities he wanted to project to the world. "I mean, come in. Please."

"Thanks," she said as she stepped inside, flashing him the shy smile that would have had his heart chasing rabbits, once upon a time. "I just want to talk for a few minutes, if that's okay?"

"Of course. You know it is, Allison." The first few months of the year had been amazingly awkward whenever they were around each other, especially when Isaac got added to the equation, but Scott had thought they were past that by now. "What's up?"

"Lydia." She shrugged, hands in her pockets dragging her jacket up with a soft leather creak. "Actually, you and Lydia."

He didn't, no matter how many times Stiles laughingly implied otherwise, actually have hackles. But this was one of the times that it felt like he did, the back of his neck tight as it tried to lift non-existent fur into a visible warning sign. "Don't take this the wrong way, Allison, but it's not really any of your business."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that might be true if I meant it the way you just took it. I'm here because Lydia's hurting, not because I'm trying to pull whatever spurned lover crap is going on in your head."

"Lydia's hurting?" Scott took a step forward, halfway between where Allison was standing and the door, before his brain caught up with his instincts. "You mean because of me."

"Because you're both being stupid." She sighed. "Look, she'd be pissed at me if she knew I was here, but I've tried to get her to talk to you, and I know Stiles has tried to get you to do the same. Frankly, it's getting kind of old."

Scott crossed his arms over his chest. "What exactly am I supposed to talk to her about?"

"About how you feel about her." She rolled her eyes before he could get a word out. "Don't lie to me, Scott. I've seen how you look at her. I know exactly what that look means, remember?"  
Scott dropped his arms, sagging against the door frame behind him. "Yeah, and look where that got us."

"Is that what this is about?" She looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry I hurt you, you know that, right? I never wanted things to end up the way they did."

"Hey," he said, catching her index finger with his own, letting their hands dangle together in an old offer of comfort. "Of course I know that. And I screwed up, too. Lots of times. It wasn't anybody's fault. Well. Not mine or yours, anyway."

She turned her palm into his, squeezing his hand tight before she let go. "Thanks," she said. Then she leveled him with a look so arch it made him have flashbacks to those awful dinners with Victoria and Chris. "So what's stopping you from trying to work something out with Lydia?"

"Aaaugh," he groaned, dropping his head back against the doorframe hard enough that his skull thunked like a ripe watermelon. "There isn't anything to work out!"

"Scott."

"No, I get it, Allison," he said, sighing. "You and Stiles both want us to be happy, and I love you guys for that. But I'm not the kind of guy Lydia wants, and if you'd just think about it for even one second, you'd get that."

Her mouth went tight. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah," he said, stomach full of cold iron and battery acid. "I tried the whole casual dating thing after you and I broke up. It's not me at all. I have to throw my whole self into whatever I do, even if it means I wind up getting burned."

Allison looked at him for a long time before she finally nodded. "Okay," she said. "So then why aren't you doing that?"

Scott went still. Allison smiled sadly, then turned and let herself out his front door.

* * *

_Some people emphasize that strong leaders never depart from their goal, plan, or vision and that such dedication is, in fact, a measure of their strength. Others would argue, however, that strong leaders are flexible. Strong leaders know when to admit they have made a mistake and when it is appropriate to change their goal or mission. This flexibility shows their strength and the extent of their wisdom._

Scott sighed and snuck another peek at Lydia. She was sitting with her back to the edge of the hard plastic picnic table, one finger lazily twirling a strand of hair while she read one of the books she'd brought along. Pretty soon her phone would beep and she'd be calling out time, and Scott wouldn't have anything more written about what makes a good leader than he had when he first read the question.

He freakin' hated the essay portion of the SAT.

It was bad enough when he was taking the actual test, trying to _develop a point of view_ and present his ideas _logically and clearly_ , all in twenty-five minutes on a dinky answer sheet. Doing it for practice when Lydia was the one checking his work was pure torture. Not that she'd been mean or anything.  
But the questions were supposed to be relatable, eliciting personal examples as part of the response. Lydia had given him a long, hard look yesterday when she came to the section of paper he'd erased so many times it was practically shredded, but at least she hadn't been able to read what he'd written about Jackson in response to the theme of whether material possessions could make people happy.  
Maybe he should have left it in. Anything so he wouldn't have had to squirm his way through the way her eyes as glistened while she read about regularly waiting for his dad's check to arrive.

Scott thrummed his pencil against the table, glaring at today's question all over again. Deaton insisted that most things in the world didn't have anything to do with the supernatural, but surely someone at the SATs had a direct line to Scott's brain. How else would they know how to come up with the most uncomfortable topics ever?

"Problem?" Lydia asked, startling him enough that he dropped his pencil.

"No," he said, and she pressed her lips together hard, aiming her eyes back to her book without trying to probe deeper. She'd been like that the past few days, ever since Allison had come to his house, closed in and careful not to flirt.

"I mean yes," he said, shoving his books to the center of the table. "Don't you ever just want to say fuck it? Just say the hell with all the stuff you think you're _supposed_ to do?"

Lydia dropped her book on top of the table, then leaned forward, brow furrowed, to tug his notebook towards her. Her brow cleared as she read the only words he'd written on it: _Does a good leader need to be flexible?_

"Scott. Please tell me you didn't just spend the last twenty minutes questioning your leadership abilities."

"No." He snorted. "Well, kind of. It's just...sometimes I feel like I'm living my whole life inside a cage."

She cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Scott shrugged. "Did you know that before I was bitten, I had asthma?"

Lydia nodded. "Stiles still carries your inhaler, doesn't he? I've seen it in his backpack."

"Yeah. He's always looked after me, even when we were kids." Scott looked down at his hands, sliding his claws out and then back in, and then he snorted. "He got me into trouble, too, all the time. I was always scared of doing too much because of the asthma. It was always this weight around my neck, right up until sophomore year when I decided I was gonna change that by making first line."

"And then Peter bit you."

Scott nodded. "And then I didn't have to worry about the asthma anymore, but there was all this other stuff. I had to learn to stay in control all the time so I didn't freakin' kill somebody."

Lydia laid her hand on top of his.

"I mean, I'm not complaining. It was way more than I could handle at first, and I could really do without people trying to kill me, but it turns out being a werewolf is pretty awesome." He smiled, and Lydia smiled back. "But now that I'm the alpha, I have to be on my game all the time, you know? I can't just kick my shoes off and run barefoot through the grass whenever I feel like it."

"Well, I think you _could_ ," Lydia said dryly, and Scott laughed. He took a breath, readying himself to spill it all, to let her know exactly how he felt about her, but then Lydia let out a deep sigh and pulled her hand back. "I hate high heels."

Scott blinked. "Huh?"

She lifted her leg, turning her foot from side to side, showing off her shoe. "Don't get me wrong. I love the way they look. The amount of creativity involved is pretty amazing, especially when you think about how they keep coming up with new, exciting designs based around the same basic form."

Scott frowned. "Yeah, I guess so. I've never really thought about it."

"Most people don't." She stretched her foot into a tight point, muscles straining until Scott heard a soft pop come from inside her ankle. Lydia sighed with relief, then set her foot back down on the ground. "And their functionality is a huge part of why I wear them, too. For someone as short as I am, they're practically a necessity to create the right line for any fashionable outfit. That's before you even bring in the psychological impact they have. The added height makes me feel powerful, not to mention the sound they make against the floor, and the fact that I could use one of these puppies to murder someone, if I had to."

"Okay," Scott said slowly. He felt more lost than he had the first time he'd tried to figure out how to undo a bra without looking. "But I thought you said you hated high heels."

"I _do_." Lydia huffed. "I was trying to explain why I wear them. But oh, my God, do you have any idea what they do to your feet? To your calf muscles? I hate that I've bought into society's standards for women's beauty, and I hate that I feel like I _have_ to wear them to feel empowered. Especially because they hurt like a motherfucker."

A laugh burst out of him, and he slapped his hand over his mouth. "Sorry! I wasn't laughing at you, I swear."

"Yes, you were," she said, smiling as she nudged his shoulder with her own. "But you were supposed to."

He smiled back at her, but it didn't last long. "So if you hate them so much, why do you wear them all the time? Even out here, when there's nobody around but us."

She took a deep breath. "Because they're what I know. They're _safe_ , Scott, do you get that? I know who I am when I'm in high heels. Even if they hold me back sometimes."

"I wanted to ask you out," Scott blurted. "But I didn't think you'd want to go out with me because you'd think I was trying to tie you down."

"It's not that," she said, leaning in. "All those guys were just distractions."

"After Jackson."

She nodded. "I was so lost, after what Peter did to me, after _everything_. And then Jackson left, and I needed something to make me feel like I was still the Lydia I'd always thought I was."

"Oh!" It was like she'd just pointed out he'd forgotten about the absolute value sign. "Jackson was your high heels!"

"Yeah," she said. "I knew exactly what I was getting with Jackson, and what I could get from him. Or that's what I thought, anyway."

"Jackson was safe," he said, searching her eyes, and she nodded. "And I'm...not?"

"You're the most dangerous man I know," she whispered. 

He was pretty sure she didn't mean his werewolfy side.

"Scott, what the hell?" she yelped as he pushed himself off the bench, landing lightly on his knees in front of her.

"Don't freak out," he said, reaching for her ankle. "See, I think we both need to be more flexible."

"Flexible?"

He nodded, then held up his right hand, sliding the claw out from the tip of his index finger. "We like each other, right?"

"Yeah, but Scott—"

"Lydia, would you like to go to the party after the game this weekend?"

She stared at him. "And after that?"

He shrugged, then used his claw to carefully lever up the prong of the buckle. "Who knows?" He finished slipping the strap free, then slid her shoe off of her foot. "Maybe you ask me out again. Maybe I ask you out again. We'll just be flexible."

"You know it's not that easy. Pretending like we're not officially dating won't stop us from hurting each other."

"I know," he said, holding her gaze as his fingers worked the buckle on her other shoe. "But everything else in our lives sucks pretty bad, so how much worse can it be to try?"

"A lot worse," she said, but then her lips twitched. "You want me to _literally_ run barefoot through the grass with you, don't you?"

"Too cheesy?" he asked, grinning up at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Just so you know, I'm not running anywhere in this skirt."

"Fine," he said, untying his own shoes so fast the heavy plastic aglets popped against his knuckles. "I guess I can handle walking barefoot through the grass, if that's what makes you happy."

"You catch on quick," she said, right before she leaned forward and kissed him. He was still blinking, dazed by the feel of her lips, the scent of jasmine and musk and _Lydia_ , when she stood up and held out her hand to him.

"Come on," she said, smiling. "Let's go walk in the grass."

END


End file.
